


Knights and Knaves

by LadyNorbert



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Family, Family Drama, Father-Daughter Relationship, Kidnapping, Mystery, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/pseuds/LadyNorbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One always tells the truth; one always lies. Though she enjoys being Professor Layton's adopted daughter, Flora feels like the unfavorite compared to Luke. She finds solace with an eccentric toymaker, but something's not right, and meanwhile there's a new series of puzzles that seems to have special meaning if she can only figure out what it is.  Can this fatherless daughter and her childless father find each other? Set post-Unwound Future, contains spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

 

When Flora had first met Professor Layton, he lived in a tiny flat near Gressenheller University. He was a confirmed bachelor, with spartan needs; more than anything, he required plenty of space for books and filing cabinets bursting with papers. There was a little spare room, too, where Luke sometimes slept; but Luke did not live with the Professor on a regular basis. He had parents of his own, after all, and although he spent more than half his time engaged in "apprentice duties," and was certainly with them more often than not, he still lived with his own family.

However, the acquisition of a daughter - however nominally - caused the Professor to rethink the entire matter. Though she'd only brought one suitcase from St. Mystere, Flora needed her own space, and after a few days of investigating the matter he announced that he'd purchased a tidy little house. While he threw his energies into boxing up his various academic paraphernalia, he presented Luke and Flora with a map of the area and challenged them to find all the different routes he could now take to work, including the longest one without retracing any part of the path, and the shortest one, and the one with the most possible right turns.

Their new home was hardly to be compared with the Reinhold Manor, but Flora was delighted with it. A sunny parlor with a piano, and a spacious library that seemed like it might even have enough space for all the shelves the Professor would need, and four bedrooms - one each for the two permanent residents, one for the occasional resident, and an extra guest room for the unexpected visitor. It was a perfect little dream house.

There had been formalities. Bruno had, before their departure from St. Mystere, entrusted the Professor with all of the necessary documentation that Papa had left behind for her future guardian. With these important papers the Professor had taken her before a judge (a friend, in fact, which probably made the whole thing easier) and after two hours of questioning and signing and sealing and stamping, she was declared to be the Professor's heir and assign and legal ward. Luke had some slight jealousy about this, but as it became very quickly apparent that the arrangement created almost no change at all in his own relationship with the Professor, he recovered his usual cheerful disposition in short order.

She had pocket-money, which was new; all her life, she had only to name what she wanted and it was hers. Now she had a little income, a monthly installment of her inheritance. The Professor explained that touching the Reinhold treasure - that is to say, the  _gold_  - would have ended the existence of her beloved robot companions; but there was other money, her mother's money in truth, which had been properly stored in a bank, and it was this that she could access without any fears for St. Mystere. And then he had taken her and her pocket-money into town, and she had new clothes and all manner of pretty things for her new bedroom, and sheet music for the piano that he said might be hers if she wished. Luke and his parents came to dinner that evening, and Luke brought his violin, and they entertained the adults following the meal with the instruments. It was not altogether harmonious, and Luke clearly had some way to go with his music lessons, but Mr. and Mrs. Triton and the Professor had seemed pleased.

For the first few weeks in the new home, she was content. She spent hours arranging the bedroom; Flora liked to have everything  _just so_ , with her hair ribbons sorted in neat coils inside a mahogany box and her dresses hung facing to the left in her little closet. The walls were adorned with framed pictures, of her parents and her friends in St. Mystere, and one carefully restored portrait of her mother sitting in a chair she almost remembered and gazing out at the full moon. The Professor had discovered the scattered fragments throughout his investigation in St. Mystere and had it reassembled for her. The Professor went to teach almost every day, and Luke almost invariably came home with him, and Flora played the piano and taught herself to cook and solved puzzles with them in the evenings.

Then they had visited Dr. Andrew Schrader, and came home to tell her that they were going on a journey by rail and would not return for some days. And a terror welled up inside of herself; they would not, indeed could not, name their destination, nor assure her of when they might be expected back. That night she had not slept, for every time she did she awoke in boundless fright. What if they didn't come back at all? So she had donned her old disguise, and stayed out of sight long enough to follow them onto the train, and by the time they discovered her it was too late to change anything. And it was wonderful - the fair in Dropstone was more fun than she remembered having in years - until someone grabbed her, and everything went black, and the next thing she knew she was waking up in a barn. The drug which had been given to her made her sleepy for days, so the passage of time was incomprehensible. They had found her there, smiling with relief to find her unharmed, issuing fond scoldings about how this was why they didn't bring her in the first place.

"I didn't want to be alone," she said. She had said it already, when they first identified her, but she wanted them to understand. After all that had happened, she simply couldn't  _bear_  to be alone. For a few hours during the day, it was bearable; the Professor was teaching, she could name the hour when she might reasonably expect him home, and if she truly needed him she knew how to go to his office. But for longer than that, it was intolerable. Her body shook and her mind raced and there was no one, no one in the entire wide city, that she could turn to for solace when the Professor and Luke were not to be found. She hoped that now they understood.

* * *

A couple weeks later, when they disappeared without so much as a note, it became very apparent that they did  _not_  understand. The Professor had been at his most mollifying, and she had relented, and made them tea and cucumber sandwiches...only to discover that they left through the back door. Incensed at their cruelty, she had given chase, running into Inspector Chelmey and Officer Barton in the process, and cornered them in a rather out-of-the-way clock shop. To her surprise, the officials seemed inclined to take her part in the matter. Even Luke, once she pointed out the reasons for her distress, had sympathized; she was less angry with him. He was only a boy, after all, and would go and do what the Professor bid.

But the Professor, despite his apologies and soothing words, simply could not seem to grasp her point of view. He kept protesting that it was unsafe, that she needed to remain at home, that the investigation was too dangerous. Unfortunately, he lost the battle in the end, for by the time they had finished the fight, they were already in Future London. Traveled ten years into the future - where, evidently, the Professor and Luke gave her no more thought than they had in their own time, since they admitted that it never crossed their minds to wonder what her future self might be doing. Having evidently seen enough of her in distress for one day, the Professor had sidestepped the issue by proposing to take them all to lunch at a very good restaurant, and she - well, she never could stay mad for long.

Then there was the matter of future Luke, or Big Luke as they called him. Taller than she, and grown surprisingly handsome, and so  _attentive_. Far more solicitous than Little Luke, giving her his arm over the difficult patches of walking and promising to protect her. Still, she found that when danger was imminent - such as when Dimitri Allen locked them all in a cage - she wanted not him but her guardian, seizing his arm in fear. Then it had turned out to be a decoy Professor, and she realized in horror that she was clinging to her kidnapper, and the destroyer of the St. Mystere tower - Don Paolo. But he too seemed different in the future, asking the Professor (the real one) to allow him to prove himself a gentleman to "the young lady."

The Professor, however, split them up into two groups and sent her off to the hotel with Big Luke. She had protested, frightened; why couldn't this man see that she  _didn't like not knowing where he was_? But he had adopted the supplicating, gentle tone that she had long since learned to love, and to identify as something he reserved almost exclusively for herself, and promised that he would meet her at the hotel very soon. And to his credit, Big Luke had continued to be attentive and civil, and had escorted her to the hotel with great ease and calm. She had to admit that even the Professor could probably not have done better. All the same, she'd been deeply relieved when he and Little Luke joined her there, less than half an hour after they parted.

Together they had broken into Dimitri Allen's research facility, joined once again by Don Paolo, and also by a woman who identified herself as the sister of the Professor's college sweetheart Claire. He had never mentioned this woman to either herself or Luke, but Flora had spied a photograph during the move which strongly resembled this Celeste individual, so she found it easy to believe. They'd been forced to separate once again while fleeing the facility, with Don Paolo and Celeste going one way and the Professor leading Little Luke and Flora another, and all reunited at a public house called the Thames Arms. Big Luke met them there, as did Inspector Chelmey and Officer Barton, and they all listened while the Professor explained everything to them.

They were not in the future at all, but in a false London miles under the surface of the earth, an elaborate scheme concocted by Dimitri Allen. He had kidnapped prominent scientists and put them to work on building a real time machine, all with the hope of going back in time to save Claire - Claire whom the Professor had loved, and so had Dimitri, and so had Don Paolo. Flora found it all a little improbable, but it was also romantic, and she held her tongue and paid attention to the Professor's every word.

The worst was to come. Dimitri himself had been hoodwinked by his partner Clive, who had redirected the efforts of the scientists toward a terrible weapon designed to completely destroy all of London. Clive, whose parents had died in the same accident which had killed Claire. Clive, whom the Professor revealed as none other than Big Luke. His laughter had been cold and cruel and bitter as he acknowledged every particular...and then he had made good his flight from the Thames Arms, but not before pausing long enough to pull Flora from her seat and drag her along behind him.

"Hey!"

While the adults all stared in shock, the real Luke, bless him, had leaped to his feet and given chase. He might have succeeded in at least preventing her abduction, but Clive had kicked a large potted plant down the stairs, knocking Luke to the floor. By the time he and the Professor had followed them outside, Clive had already wrestled her into a motorboat and was speeding across the river to the lighthouse.

"What are you  _doing_?" she had asked him, almost too stunned to be afraid.

"What's the matter, Flora?" he countered. "I thought you didn't  _like_  to be left behind!" They reached the lighthouse and he pulled her inside, snapping orders at the men they ran past. He all but threw her into a peculiar sort of lift, punching buttons, and scarcely waited for the doors to open when they reached the ventilation chamber.

"In you go, my pet," he barked, forcing her into a cage made of glass. "Pound away if you like - that glass is five inches thick, you won't break it with those dainty hands of yours. Scream all you want, there's no one to hear you."

"The Professor will find me," she told him. He just laughed.

"I'm sure he will...that is, if he can  _catch_  us." And he left the room.

The truly unsettling part of the whole thing was that he'd evidently prepared the cage for a hostage. She was smart enough to realize that it wasn't originally meant to be herself; after all, she wasn't really supposed to be there. If she had stayed behind like the Professor wanted, it would be someone else in the glass capsule. But who?

 _Luke_. The answer came almost as soon as she began to ponder the question. This was Clive's way of making absolutely certain that the Professor would pursue him - he had surely intended to put Luke in this prison. When he had discovered that she was also along for the ride, he probably changed plans at once, reasoning that she would be much easier to subdue. Yes, it made sense, though it did lead her to wonder why he hadn't done it sooner. The Professor had left Flora in Clive's care during the escape from the Towering Pagoda; he could have locked her in here long since. But perhaps that would not have been convenient, for reasons she might never know.

What she did know was that she was alone, and more frightened than she could remember ever being. This was more terrifying than escaping the crumbling tower in St. Mystere; even with the building threatening to collapse around them, she hadn't been this scared, because the Professor had been right there with her, calling her 'dear' and maintaining such a perfect calm that it calmed her too. Not this time. Now...she might never see him again. The thought depressed her so utterly that she couldn't even cry; she felt weary, fatigued by fear and sorrow.

An hour passed, or maybe two; she had no way to know. Maybe it wasn't even that long. But she heard sounds - a man's voice, sounding too hard and angry to be the Professor. The door to the ventilation chamber swung open, and she stiffened in alarm.

It  _was_  the Professor. "You poor girl," he had said. "Hold on just another second, Flora!" And then to Luke, he had said, "I can't stand to see Flora in that awful thing." Tears began to threaten at that. He neatly deduced the puzzle lock on the glass capsule, and it opened with a reluctant hiss, and the next thing she knew she had rushed forward to fling her arms around his waist as he clutched her to him.

"I'm so glad to see you!"

"No need to worry. You're safe now, dear." Her special tone again, only warmer and gentler and more filled with relief than she had ever heard it. She had pulled away to bestow a second, quicker hug on a beaming Luke, and then they had gone in search of Clive and the Prime Minister and somehow Celeste had persuaded Don Paolo to send her to join them in his flying machine, and then they were all in the Laytonmobile and somehow  _that_  was flying too. And they were on the ground, and Luke was helping her out of the vehicle with his own hands, smiling all the while, and the Professor and Celeste plucked Clive from the fortress before it imploded. It was all something of a blur. London was a mess, but it was still there, and the Professor was the most celebrated hero in the city. There were jokes about renaming Trafalgar Square in his honor, and more serious suggestions to at least add his statue to those collected there, but he demurred at most every idea of such honors. He'd been through quite enough; Celeste had turned out to really be Claire, shot forward in time for real the way they'd originally thought they had all been, and he had lost her all over again. All he wanted was to go home.

* * *

 _And that,_  Flora mused as she closed her diary,  _brings us to now._


	2. Chapter Two

 

"Do you really have to go?" Flora asked Luke.

"No way around it," he replied gloomily, stirring his tea almost mindlessly. "Dad's taken a post in America. We'll travel by steamship, leaving Saturday."

"Oh, Luke...I'll  _miss_  you!"

He smiled half-heartedly. "I'll miss you too, Flora. Won't...won't be the same...will it?"

"Not at all."

His expression turned earnest, and serious. "The Professor won't have an apprentice anymore. Remi's gone, I'll be gone - it'll be up to you to help him, Flora."

"Of course I will. If he'll  _let_  me, that is."

"You know why he leaves you behind, don't you?"

"To keep me out of the way, I expect."

"To keep you safe," Luke corrected.

Flora was about to protest the logic of this - she was older than Luke, after all, and surely if anyone should be kept safe it would be a young boy - but Luke interrupted by adding, "You know the Professor. Consummate gentleman. He would never willingly bring a lady into harm's way."

"Well, I suppose..."

"Luke! Flora!"

"In here, Professor," she called, and he appeared in the parlor doorway.

"Will you two kindly accompany me to the university?" he inquired. "I...have a favor to ask."

Luke frowned slightly, and pulled out his pocket appointment book in which he almost obsessively tracked the Professor's schedule. "Aren't you supposed to be there shortly for that 'private session'? The one your student was going on about looking forward to?"

"Precisely. I, er...I thought it might be fun if you two came along." The Professor, Flora couldn't help but note, looked distinctly uncomfortable. Luke made an expression of distaste.

"I got the impression that she's  _sweet_  on you, Professor! Bleugh!"

"What's wrong with that?" Flora asked in some surprise. She thought that if nothing else, it showed that the girl in question had taste. Luke just looked at her, and shook his head.

"Girls," he muttered.

"In any case," the Professor went on, "I'd be most appreciative for the company, and afterward the three of us might have dinner downtown." Luke's whole aspect changed in an instant, and he was suddenly much more interested than he would otherwise have been, and within a quarter of an hour they were on their way to the university.

* * *

"Ah, Rosetta, right on time." The Professor's greeting to the young woman standing outside his office was exquisitely polite, but cool. If Luke's opinion of her regard for the Professor was accurate, it was clear enough to Flora that it was unrequited.

The young woman turned toward the Professor with a smile of welcome, but the smile was only half-formed when it froze on her countenance at the sight of Luke and Flora. "Professor...so glad you could make the time for a  _private_  session."

"You remember my apprentice, Luke, of course?" He unlocked his office with a professional briskness. "And this is my ward, Flora. I hope you don't mind them joining us, but it was something of a necessity."

Flora stifled a giggle, which was not all that difficult when she caught the unfriendly look Rosetta cast in her direction. "Of course I remember Luke. It's... _nice_  to meet you, Flora. Would you mind terribly if I asked your age? You seem so...tall."

"I'm fifteen." Flora thought this was more than a little presumptious, but she drew herself up to her full height. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rosetta."

Fifteen was evidently young enough for Rosetta to cease viewing Flora as potential competition, and she relaxed her features somewhat. "Likewise, I'm sure. Well, Professor," she continued, "I mostly want to talk to you about the specifics concerning what you recently taught us about Egypt. It's so  _fascinating_  when you talk about it in class, but I'm afraid I have a hard time keeping the names and dates straight in my notes." Her tone had an almost purrish quality that reminded Flora of Claudia, her stepmother's cat, when he was attempting to charm Matthew the butler into getting a treat from the cabinet.

* * *

Rosetta received decidedly less enjoyment from the session than the Professor, Luke and Flora did, and barely lasted an hour in their company. The Professor, by comparison, was exceedingly merry and didn't even blink when Luke once again ordered half the menu at the restaurant afterward. But when the food came, Luke seemed to deflate, and his appetite waned.

"What is it, my boy?"

"I just realized...this is probably the last time we'll all three dine out in public together," he replied sadly. "I leave Saturday, you know."

"Yes, I know," the Professor replied quietly. "I spoke with your father this afternoon; I'm to bring you to the pier to meet them."

Luke nodded, poking at his food. Flora longed to hug him, or  _something_ , but didn't really know how she might do it. Abruptly, she found herself flashing back to  _that day_ , when the Professor had flown his car to the ground so that she and Luke and the Prime Minister might all exit safely before he went back to get Celeste - no, Claire - and Clive, whom she was rescuing from the fortress. The Prime Minister had hardly waited for an invitation to exit the car, and she had meanwhile been engrossed in carefully climbing out onto the wing on her own side. Luke was already there, holding out his hands for her to take, smiling as he helped her safely to the ground. It had been such a sweet smile, too; and even though he was still right there, she suddenly missed Luke very much.

"You will write to us, won't you?" she asked him anxiously.

"Course I will!"

"It will be sort of nice," she mused, "having a pen friend. I've never had one. I mean, I write to Lady Dahlia, and to Bruno, and they write to me, but that's not quite the same, is it?"

"No." The Professor smiled. "Not quite."

"I'll write to you," Luke promised. "You can tell me about the puzzles you're solving here, and I can tell you about the puzzles I find in America."

* * *

Although the prospect of becoming pen friends cheered the outlook of both children, it was still a melancholy scene on Friday evening, when the farewells were imminent. Flora exerted herself farther than ever that afternoon, crafting a special goodbye dinner; unfortunately, neither Luke nor the Professor had any appetite. "Sorry, Flora," Luke had apologized, "but I'm just... too sad to eat."

"Yes," the Professor quickly agreed, "yes, I'm much the same." He looked at his plate, with its generous portion of fish-filled cake, and his expression was exceedingly distressed.

After they had eaten what they would, the Professor suggested that they let him clear up. "Flora, dear, you go up with Luke and help him pack. I'll take care of this."

She thought it was awfully nice of him to offer, and so she followed Luke up the stairs. "I've finished packing most of my things," he said. "Just a few odds and ends...look here!" He laughed quietly, holding up the Flora mask he had kept following the adventure of the Elysian Box. "Remember?"

"How could I forget? I still don't understand how Don Paolo managed to convince you he was me, mask or no mask!"

"I have to admit," Luke conceded, "it was a  _very_  good Flora impression. It had to be, if the Professor himself didn't realize it! At least, he never let on if he suspected - kept calling the other Flora 'dear' and worrying about the fact that you, I mean she, I mean  _he_  was apparently ill all the time. I guess that was Don Paolo's way of finding time to search for the box on his own."

"That makes sense." Flora picked up one of the few remaining shirts and occupied her hands with carefully folding it into a neat square. "I still don't understand why he modified the car, do you?"

"Not entirely. He  _said_  he was doing it for you."

"After everything he did? Kidnapping me? Not to mention everything that happened in St. Mystere!"

"Well...maybe he felt guilty? It was his way of apologizing? I dunno, Flora, he's a pretty strange guy. Hard to figure out." Luke tucked his collection of Don Paolo masks into a corner of the trunk. "I'm sort of thinking maybe we shouldn't question it too closely. If he didn't fix the car like he did, we wouldn't even be  _having_  this conversation."

That was irrefutable, and it made her shudder to think about it. To give herself some time to get the idea out of her head, she excused herself and went to her room to retrieve Luke's farewell gift. She had monogrammed a set of handkerchiefs for him; it had been something of a time crunch, since she'd only learned of his impending departure on Tuesday, and she had essentially cloistered herself in her room for most of Thursday in order to finish them. The stitches weren't the neatest, but she had tried her hardest to make them nice.

"Luke...here...I..."

He took them, puzzled. "What...?"

"Well. A gentleman...a gentleman always carries a pocket handkerchief, and so..." Flora twisted her fingers together. "Something for you to remember me by."

"Aw... _thanks_ , Flora." He held them gently, running a thumb over the slightly uneven blue silk embroidery. "But y'know...I don't need something for that." He glanced up at her, then glanced away again. "There's no way I could ever forget you."

* * *

It was really a very handsome thought, and one that she kept close at heart all the next day. While the Professor put his trunk and suitcase into the boot of the car, Luke submitted without argument to Flora's parting embrace, and even endured her kiss to his cheek without changing his expression beyond turning pink.

To her surprise, Inspector Chelmey and Officer Barton had turned up shortly before his departure, to say goodbye. At first she thought they were coming to consult the Professor on a new case, or bring some news of the proceedings concerning Clive, but no; they were there simply to bid farewell to Luke. Even Don Paolo, though he protested that he was merely out for a stroll and didn't even know where they  _lived_ , stopped by and offered a gruff sort of "good luck, kid" to Luke as he shut the door of the Laytonmobile. She supposed that it was Don Paolo's presence which induced Inspector Chelmey to remain at the house even after Luke and the Professor drove off, Luke and Flora waving to each other until they were beyond each other's sight.

In spite of her resolve, Flora felt tears threatening. To her surprise, Inspector Chelmey - of all people - placed a hand on her shoulder, and when she glanced up at him, his expression was kinder than usual. Suddenly she could well imagine him as the doting husband he was described as being in the papers.

"I expect Layton will be a mite lost without the lad," he remarked. "Probably a good thing for all of London that he's still got the lass, eh?"

"Layton's always been a sentimental fool," Don Paolo interjected coolly.

"Look who's talking," Chelmey retorted.

The gentlemen - all three of them, in fact - seemed to have nothing better to occupy their time than remaining with Flora for the next few hours. She was grateful not to have to be alone, though she couldn't persuade any of them to take more refreshment than a cup of tea. The fish cake from Friday night's dinner was, unfortunately, not available to offer; the Professor had regretfully told her that, while he was clearing the table, the platter had slipped from his grasp and spilled all over the floor, and he'd been obliged to put the entire thing in the rubbish bin.


	3. Chapter Three

 

For perhaps a fortnight or so, things were...quiet.

The Professor took Luke's departure a bit harder than he had allowed Luke to see. He was less exuberant than usual, even about puzzles, though still as courteous and attentive to Flora as he ever was. She was anxious to make him feel better, so she practiced the piano often (it seemed to please him more than her cooking) and tried to encourage him to take walks with her in the evenings. He was gracious, and to all appearances grateful for the attention, but still distracted and out of spirits.

Gradually his mood improved, and he behaved more like himself again. Flora relaxed.

One afternoon, she made her way to the university with the intent of bringing him some lunch. He was still teaching, but Dean Delmona greeted her kindly and let her into the Professor's office. Luke, she remembered, had been somewhat responsible for keeping the office in at least a vague state of organization, which the Professor himself was too busy to do, and she found that things had sadly declined in the boy's absence.

_Well, Luke said it was up to me to take care of the Professor now that he's gone, so that's what I shall do._

With this in mind, she tried to find a good starting place. One of the filing cabinets, absolutely bursting with papers, seemed as though its contents had at one time been alphabetized, and that struck her as a likely choice. She settled down, therefore, to trying to make sense out of Luke's system.

Perhaps half an hour later, the door opened, and the Professor checked on the threshold. "Flora? What brings you down here?"

She held up a sheaf of papers. "I'm trying to do what Luke always did, and keep your things in order, but I'm not quite certain I understand how he organized things."

"That's very sweet of you, dear, but suppose we have a bit of lunch? I'm rather famished after that last lesson."

While they ate the sandwiches she had brought, he cast an amused glance at the papers. "I suppose Luke's system is a bit...irregular. He tended to make the filing into a sort of puzzle. I'm not surprised you had difficulty getting on."

Flora felt slightly wounded at that. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, just that filing systems tend to be somewhat personal in nature, my dear, that's all." The Professor stirred his tea idly. "I don't altogether understand Luke's system myself; it was always easier to ask him for what I needed. That's why it's in such disarray now, because I can no longer ask him."

"Perhaps I could set up a new system," she volunteered, "one that I understand. Then you could just ask me."

"A very handsome offer, I'm sure." He smiled. "Suppose we defer it until the summer holidays? We can work together to devise something that's accessible for us both."

Flora agreed, but something about the notion didn't sit entirely well. To cover her own feelings, she glanced around the office for something else to discuss. Her gaze lighted on a pair of framed photographs on the Professor's desk. One was a sepia-toned portrait of an elderly couple; the other, a color picture of the Professor and Luke, who could be no more than nine or ten.

"Who is that?" she inquired, pointing at the first image.

"Those are my parents," he replied. His tone was slightly neutral, less pleasant than usual. "George and Mariah Layton."

She studied the picture thoughtfully. "You look a vast deal like your father."

"Thank you, dear. They were very good people; I think you would have liked them."

"I'm sorry I didn't get to meet them." She tried to ask  _how long have they been gone_ , but the question stuck in her throat. The Professor had lost his parents, just as she had lost hers.

"I lost my father," he went on conversationally, almost distractedly, "just two years ago. Mother passed away the year after Claire's accident." He seemed to shake himself just a touch. "Not to change the subject, but these sandwiches are rather remarkably good."

"I got them from that little delicatessen in Bond Street. Luke told me you were fond of their bread."

"Ah, that explains it. I'm much obliged to him - and to you, Flora dear, for thinking of it." He offered her a smile.

The Professor had one class yet to teach, and proposed that if she would wait for him in the office, they might take the bus afterward and pay a visit to Dr. Schrader, who had finally been released from the hospital and returned to his own lodgings. "I'm surprised that they required Andrew to convalesce for so long," he admitted, "but I expect it was mostly a matter of being safe rather than sorry."

She agreed readily to the plan, though something still felt just the littlest bit off. Only later, when they were on their way home following a most congenial visit, did Flora finally realize what was bothering her about the photographs on the Professor's desk.

There wasn't one of her.

* * *

"I expect to be a bit late this evening, Flora, dear," the Professor said over breakfast a few days later.

She looked at him in surprise. "But I thought you only had the morning class."

"Very true. However, Inspector Chelmey rang while you were dressing, and he's asked me to come to the station afterward. They're assembling the depositions for the trials of Dimitri Allen, Bill Hawks, and Clive, and they want my assistance."

"Shall they be wanting a statement from me as well?" It seemed plausible; she  _had_ , after all, been Clive's kidnap victim, and as much of a witness to the rest as anyone else.

"Oh, no, I shouldn't think so. Besides, it wouldn't suit me to take you along - we'll in all likelihood have to visit the prison, and I daresay that's hardly the proper place for a young lady. Too gloomy, too potentially dangerous. I'd much rather you stayed out in the sunshine than venture someplace so dark."

"All right." She dropped her gaze.

"I mean it, Flora," he added, his voice adopting just a shade of sternness amid the warmth. "Really, it will be frightfully dull. Why don't you go out for a bit? There's that bookshop not far from the university, and the music shop. Perhaps you'll find something new to play."

There was no point in arguing, and she wasn't altogether keen on visiting a prison in any case, so after he left and the breakfast things were cleared, she took his advice. It wasn't a bad way to spend the late morning; she found a murder mystery at the bookshop which she hadn't read, and started the first few chapters while eating lunch in a little cafe she discovered around the corner.

After her meal, she set off for the music store, but her attention was captured by a side street she'd never observed before. Most people seemed to walk straight past it, despite its tidy and bright appearance. Curious, she followed the sidewalk, stopping in front of a building with a charming green awning over the door. To the left of the door was a large picture window, filled with toys - adorable plush animals and a working toy locomotive and handmade wooden playthings that she felt even Bruno would have found impressive.

A golden bell jangled overhead as she pushed open the door. The premises appeared empty, at first, but then a little man appeared, hustling from a back room as though summoned by the ring.

"Good afternoon, miss! Welcome to Nick and Nack's Doodads. I must say, you don't look familiar." He scrutinized her with beady little black eyes, surrounded by crinkles of mirth and framed out in small gold-rimmed spectacles. "Are you new to this part of the city?"

"Well, yes...I just moved to London earlier this year."

"And how are you finding our fair metropolis?"

"Very...large," Flora confessed. "A little confusing. I don't usually go far from the university."

"Which one?"

"Gressenheller."

"Ah! Are you a student? You seem a mite young."

"Oh, no. My - er - I live with one of the professors. Hershel Layton."

Thick gray eyebrows shot up. "The puzzle aficionado? I see his name in the papers now and then. Understand he had something to do with the big bust-up that happened not long ago. That so?"

"Yes." Flora couldn't decide whether or not she liked this man.

"And you're his daughter?"

She hesitated. "No, and yes."

He chuckled. "There, there. I don't mean to ask so many questions. I get so lonely in here by myself! We're not well placed, Nack and I, and it's a wonder we stay in business. So when I get a visitor I tend to inquire too deeply. Forgive me; I don't imagine someone so young and pretty knows what it is to be lonely."

"Oh, but I do!" she protested.

"Do you, now?"

"The Professor is very kind -  _very_ good to me - but he works a great deal, and spends so much time helping people with puzzles," she explained. There was a chair near the counter, by a table laden with more wooden toys, and Mr. Nick gestured for her to sit down. "When Luke was here - the Professor's apprentice - he used to go round with him on all these errands, and help him, and they'd leave me home more often than not. Now Luke's gone to America, so it's just the Professor and me, but I don't know if he's going to allow me to help him the way Luke always did. Right now he's helping Scotland Yard sort some details...well." She suddenly felt breathlesss.

"Leaves you alone, does he! Dear me, that seems a bit cruel. I wondered how you happened to wander by." Mr. Nick tilted his head as he watched her. "Perhaps..."

"Perhaps what?"

"Well, if the boy used to help him, perhaps he had more experience with puzzles."

"Oh, yes. They're both wonderful puzzle-solvers. I try," she added, "but I'm not as good as they are yet."

"Then you must practice, yes? Just like with any skill, you must practice."

That was sound logic. "You're right. How should I begin?"

"Well, right there on that table, I have a fresh Klotski puzzle. Just carved and painted the pieces yesterday, in fact!" He pointed at her right elbow, which rested on the edge of the table, and she turned to examine it.

"It's beautifully made," she said, admiringly. "It reminds me of the Princess in the Tower puzzle I saw once back in - back home."

"Did you solve that one?"

"Oh, no. The Professor did."

"Perhaps you'd like to give this one a try, then," he said. "Just you - no Professor, no Luke." He peered at her over the top of his spectacles, and smiled again. "I think you can do it."

Almost an hour later, she did. "Take that, puzzle!" she cried, sliding the round blue block into the hole where she'd been painstakingly trying to put it.

"Oh, well done!" Mr. Nick came to investigate her success. "Yes, yes, quite right, and very cleverly managed too. Professor Layton would be very pleased, I'm sure." Still smiling, he took the puzzle and placed it on a shelf behind the counter. Flora stood, and fidgeted a little; she suddenly felt slightly awkward.

"Could I take it home? I mean - buy it, that is."

"But you've already solved it."

"Yes, but...I'd like to..."

"To show the Professor," he guessed.

"Well, yes."

"Well, Miss...Layton?"

"Reinhold. Flora Reinhold - you can just call me Flora."

"Miss Flora, then. Suppose you come back again in a day or so, and I'll have a new puzzle waiting? Just for you. And if you can solve that one, why, then, you'll just keep me busy, won't you? It would be a pleasure to think up new puzzles for a pretty girl."

Flora gave a small, shy giggle, and nodded. "I'd like that very much, Mr. Nick."

"Off with you, then, until we meet again. Good day to you, my dear."


	4. Chapter Four

 The Professor, as he'd surmised, returned late from his visit to Clive in the prison. He seemed weary, but calm, and altogether pleased that Flora had managed to entertain herself tolerably well in his absence.

"How is...he?" she asked, hesitantly. All things considered, Clive was hardly one of her favorite people.

"About as well as can be expected. He sends his compliments to you, and his regrets."

"That's nice of him." It was, she supposed. At least it was a civil thought.

"Did you have a good afternoon?"

"I bought a new book, and some new music, as you suggested." For some reason, she didn't feel quite ready to tell him about Nick and Nack's. "I'll play for you after supper, if you wish."

"Thank you, dear, but I'm really quite tired. I think I'll just have a bit of tea and toast and then go to bed early." He really did appear like he needed to sleep, so she accepted that without question. "Tomorrow may well be another long day."

"Couldn't I be of some help to you?"

"Right now, my dear," said the Professor gently, "the best way you can help me is by allowing me to go about this tiresome police business unimpeded. It's a great comfort to me to be able to think that you're safe from any harm when I'm busy with Inspector Chelmey."

 _Unimpeded? Am I an impediment?_  she wondered. The prospect stung. Trying very hard not to sound accusatory, she pointed out, "You would have taken Luke with you, I'm sure."

"Perhaps I would," he admitted, "though not without considerable qualms on my side. It's a bit different, though, dear. Luke - well, if I may say so without sounding entirely self-congratulatory, he essentially wants to be  _me_  when he grows up, at least at present. I see something of my own younger self in Luke, and that always made it difficult to tell him no when he wanted to come along on such outings."

"I see." Flora wasn't entirely certain that she did; but the Professor looked  _so_  tired that she couldn't bring herself to continue the argument. She went to the kitchen and started his tea, his favorite blend, and toasted the bread and buttered it delicately and added a dab of honey to each slice. She assembled a tray and carried it back to the parlour...where she found him fast asleep in his preferred chair.

* * *

"Miss Flora!"

Mr. Nick was behind the counter when Flora pushed open the door to the toy shop. Standing with him was an unfamiliar man, a good foot taller and considerably younger looking, whom he introduced as his partner, Mr. Nack. "This is the charming young lady I told you was here just yesterday, and solved the Klotski with such finesse. It's good to see you again, though I confess it was a pleasure I didn't anticipate quite so soon."

"Well, the Professor is a bit busy today...I hope you don't mind that I came by?" She felt suddenly anxious, like she was intruding.

"Not in the least, my dear. Suppose we all have some tea? Business is frightfully slow."

Mr. Nack didn't say much, but sat with Flora and Mr. Nick at the little table in the back of the store. He watched the pair of them over his teacup, listening to their conversation.

"Did you get to tell the Professor about the puzzle you solved, Miss Flora?"

"I did," she replied. "He's glad that I've found things to do in the city. We both miss Luke a great deal, though."

"Luke. That's the boy you mentioned yesterday, correct? The Professor's apprentice?"

"Yes. It's strange to have it be just the two of us, now."

"I wonder that he doesn't make you his new apprentice."

"He does sometimes introduce me as his protegee, but I don't think that's quite the same."

"Not quite," agreed Mr. Nack, speaking for the first time. "It sounds as though this Professor of yours doesn't rate your abilities as highly as those of the boy Luke."

Flora looked down into her teacup, feeling stung. Mr. Nack had just put her own worry into words. "I don't know."

"How is it that he came to be your guardian, Miss Flora?" Mr. Nick inquired gently, shooting a quelling look at his partner. "Where are your parents?"

"My mother died when I was a child. Papa became very ill and only survived her by a few years."

"And they left you to the care of the Professor?"

"Well...sort of. It all had to do with one of the Professor's investigations. I'm not supposed to talk about it very much."

"Why?" asked Mr. Nack. "Did he do something shady to become your guardian?"

Flora jerked her head up, cheeks flushed with indignation. "He would never do anything improper, in any sense of the word!"

"Nack, stop upsetting her. Don't pay him any mind, my dear, Nack has a terrible lack of tact sometimes. He doesn't mean any harm."

"I'm not supposed to talk about it," Flora continued, trying to be mistress of herself, "for very good reasons. But I can assure you that the Professor becoming my guardian was all done very legally and properly. He's very good."

"I'm sure he is." There was something unconvinced in Mr. Nick's eyes, however.

* * *

A few days later, Flora returned from another visit to the toy shop to find the Professor deep in thought.

"Oh, hello, dear," he said, looking up when she entered the parlour. "Have you had a good day?"

She assured him that she had. "What's going on, Professor?"

"A puzzle." He smiled briefly. "As usual. Inspector Chelmey received a puzzle, of all things, at Scotland Yard. He called me down directly."

"Did you solve it?" She hung her wrap on the hat stand and took her seat opposite his.

"Yes, without much difficulty. Every puzzle has an answer. The question is, what does it  _mean_?"

"Mean?"

"Well, here. I'll let you see for yourself." He drew an envelope from his inner jacket pocket. "The Inspector did of course have to keep the original for evidence, but he was good enough to allow me to make a copy to bring home. The puzzle in question was a simple Klotski; this is the note which accompanied it."

Mystified, Flora opened the envelope and read the contents.

_Esteemed law enforcement officials, we offer a greeting and a game. Solve this to reveal a clue. More clues will be forthcoming. Can you guess who we are and what we desire? Age longs for youth, and youth for notice. The prizes we seek we will claim when the game is finished. Play along and none will be harmed. Fail to play and many may suffer._

_The first clue will appear when the puzzle is solved. Have it announced in tomorrow's_ Times _, so that we know you have agreed to our terms._

"I don't understand," she admitted, handing it back. "What was the clue?"

"The letter R." The Professor returned the envelope to his pocket. "There was only one way to solve the puzzle, and when the ball slid into its destined position, the other blocks were arranged to form the letter R. I attempted a number of different patterns to verify that this was the only possible outcome"

"No wonder you don't know what it means. Could it stand for the culprit's name?"

"It may be so, but remember that there are at least two individuals involved, as suggested by the use of the pronoun 'we.' The better question is what they plan to do. It seems that they have every intention of acquiring something, and I'm at a loss to fathom what it is."

"'Age longs for youth, and youth for notice.' It sounds like they want to be young - or one of them does, at least - and famous." She watched his face, hopeful. "Could I come with you tomorrow to see the next clue?"

He was about to refuse her, she knew it, and she steeled herself for the rejection. But perhaps something in her face made him reconsider, for after a moment he said, "Well...I see no particular harm in it. A fresh pair of eyes may even let us see something we've missed."

She tried her hardest not to squeal with delight.


	5. Chapter Five

 

The following day, true to his word, the Professor took Flora down to Scotland Yard. He spoke briefly to the officer inside the door, and they were shown directly up to Inspector Chelmey's office.

"Eh? What?" The Inspector had started when they entered his office, jostling the coffee cup into which he had been absently staring. "Oh, Layton, it's you. Good morning, young miss, been a while."

"Good morning, Inspector," Flora replied. "You look fatigued."

"You might say that. This case is a bit of a nuisance, and it's not like it's the only work Scotland Yard's got to be getting on with. So, starting work with the next apprentice, eh Layton?"

The Professor hesitated. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose."

Flora saw the hesitation, and it stung.  _I'm not his apprentice because he still thinks of Luke as his apprentice. I'm never going to be as good as Luke._  Then she gave herself a little shake, and tightened her jaw slightly.  _This may be my chance to prove to him that I can be just as clever. Oh, Luke, I do miss you, but this is so difficult!_

"Has there been a new clue?" she inquired aloud.

"And a new puzzle to go with it. Here, you two, have a look." Inspector Chelmey gestured toward the puzzle and note sitting on his desk. "Barton found them about an hour ago, in our break room. They were delivered inside a box of doughnuts."

Flora couldn't quite suppress a tiny giggle at that, and moved over beside the Professor to examine the evidence. The new puzzle was a wordplay; the Professor picked it up and scrutinized it thoughtfully, so she undertook reading the note instead.

 _By now you must know that our game is in earnest. We don't ask for much. In fact, what we want is something you'll never even_ _miss_ _._

"That's strange," she mused. "Professor, what does the puzzle say?"

He started to answer, then paused, and smiled slightly. "Perhaps you'd like to try it yourself?"

A chance, at last! With a delighted nod, she took the paper and studied it. A riddle, not unlike one or two they had encountered in Future London, but strangely worded.

"A man and his daughter were speaking one day," she read out loud. "The man told his daughter, 'When you were born, I was twice as old as you are today, and now you are one-third of my age.' 'I know,' she replied, 'and in fifteen years, I'll be half your age again.' How old is the daughter?"

"Can you guess, my dear?"

"Let me think."

For perhaps five minutes, the room was silent but for the relentless ticking of Chelmey's desk clock. Suddenly, the answer presented itself, and the burst of understanding made Flora smile. "Fifteen!"

"Quite!" The Professor nodded approvingly. "Her father was thirty years old when she was born, which is twice fifteen, and he is now forty-five. In another fifteen years, he will be sixty and she will be thirty. Very good, Flora dear."

_Did you see that, Luke? I solved it!_

"Yes, yes, well done," said Inspector Chelmey gruffly. "Still doesn't tell us what this is all about. Are these two planning some sort of heist in fifteen days? Something we'll never miss - maybe buried in the archives of the British Museum?" He frowned, scratching a note on a piece of paper. "I think that sounds like a strong possibility; I'll ring the curator and tell him to beef up security around artifacts starting with the letter R."

"I don't think it's going to be as simple as that, Inspector," said the Professor. "Look at the note - the word  _miss_  is underlined. It obviously has some significance."

Constable Barton, who had been standing silently in the corner munching on a doughnut, cleared his throat. "Perhaps the R stands for revolver," he suggested, "and there's going to be some sort of shooting, and they'll deliberately miss. Is there a revolver that fires fifteen rounds?"

"I don't believe so, no."

"Oh, well, so much for that theory. Would the young lady care for some hot chocolate? I could do with a cup myself."

"No, thank you, Constable. Perhaps  _R_  stands for royal?" Flora guessed. "A plot against the royal family?"

"Oh, we can sit here all day batting theories around!" Inspector Chelmey snapped. "I need to take action. I'm going to bring in Don Paolo for questioning."

There was a startled pause. After a moment, and in perfectly matched tones of perplexity, the Professor and Flora asked, "Why?"

"Because I don't have any better ideas," the Inspector admitted.

* * *

An hour later, an extremely miffed Don Paolo was sitting in Inspector's Chelmey's office and glowering at them all. "I'd like an explanation for why I was brought here in such an impolite fashion. Really, Layton, I thought you were all about being a  _gentleman_."

"Layton didn't have anything to do with it," Chelmey informed him. "It was my doing. He's just here as a consultant."

Don Paolo huffed, crossing his arms. He glanced at Flora, and gave a curt nod. "Hello, young lady."

"Hello." Flora was never entirely sure how to feel about Don Paolo, but if he was going to be friendly (or something like it), then so would she.

"All right, Chelmey, get on with it! Why am I here?"

Inspector Chelmey explained the situation, pushing the known clues across the desk for Don Paolo's examination. Flora watched his eyes as he studied the puzzles. "Not my handiwork."

"I find that difficult to believe," the Inspector barked.

"If I wanted to send puzzles as clues, why would I send them to  _you_? I'd send them straight to Layton and have done with it. Besides, these are child's play; even  _I_ wouldn't insult Layton's intelligence by sending such trifles. Little Captain Obvious - the one who shuffled off to Buffalo or wherever he went - could figure these out, never mind the prince of puzzles. I'd make Layton work for the answers."

He was, Flora realized, telling the truth. She glanced at the Professor, intending to say so, but his thoughtful expression suggested that he had already reached the same conclusion.

"I had my doubts as to your involvement, Paul -"

" _Don Paolo_ , thank you."

"-but it's good to know for sure. Perhaps you might lend us your assistance on this case? Can you fathom what the puzzle's sender is planning to do?"

Don Paolo huffed again, threw another glance at Flora, and scowled at the puzzles. "No," he said finally. "I don't understand it at all. It almost seems like an elaborate ruse - something to distract you while he pulls off something else entirely."

"That's possible, I suppose," the Professor acknowledged.

"And now we're right back where we started," Inspector Chelmey grunted. He started to say something else when the telephone on his desk rang.

"Chelmey. What? Hyde Park? A  _dog_? All right, we're on our way." He threw down the receiver with a clatter. "Another puzzle!"

"I'll come with you," said the Professor.

"Me too," Flora began, but he shook his head almost at once.

"No, dear, I think you had best go home and wait for me there. Paul? I hate to inconvenience you farther, but could I prevail upon you to safely escort Flora back to our residence?" He caught sight of her apprehensive face and put a hand on her shoulder. "I won't be long," he assured her, his tone dropping down into the gentler octave that was hers alone.

"Well, finally," Don Paolo groused. "Going to let me prove myself a gentleman to the young lady at last, Layton? I'm overwhelmed."

* * *

Flora was silent for the first few blocks. But she reflected that if nothing else, this was an opportunity to find out something she really wanted to know. "Don Paolo?"

"Hm?"

"They told me that you modified our car so it could fly."

"I did."

"And that you said it was so the Professor could come after me."

"I think I said something like that."

"Well - thank you, but - why?"

"Oh." He gave a nonchalant sort of shrug. "My way of trying to make up for what happened in St. Mystere and Dropstone, you might say. I'm evil but I'm not completely heartless. You got mixed up in some things that had nothing to do with you."

"I see." She did, more or less, and offered him a smile. "Well, thank you again."

He didn't say anything for a moment or two. "Claire thought he was crazy."

"What?"

"Claire - well, you thought she was Celeste - asked Layton if he was crazy, going after you. Said he could be killed."

"He could have, at that." Flora shuddered at the idea. "What did he say?"

"Not a word. Wouldn't dignify the comment with a response." She wondered what that meant. "Chelmey thought he'd gone mad too. I think I was the only one standing there who didn't."

"Why didn't you?" The question was out before she could help herself.

Don Paolo eyed her, not unkindly. "Let's just say Layton and I have a few things in common...enough that I understand the way he thinks about a few subjects."

"What do you mean? What subjects?"

"You'll have to ask him that. Which you won't, if I don't miss my guess, and it's not my place to explain. So we'll have to hope that one of these days he gets around to telling you himself."


	6. Chapter Six

 

Two weeks slid by, almost without Flora taking notice of them.

Every day, or sometimes more than once a day, the Professor would be summoned to Scotland Yard in response to the arrival of a new puzzle. A few times Flora went with him, but more often than not he urged her to go out and enjoy herself in the city. In the evenings he would come home, usually wearied by the dual burdens of his teaching and the ongoing criminal case, and almost invariably he would fall asleep in his favorite chair while she played the piano; on two separate occasions she had to rescue the teacup in his hand before it landed in his lap.

She didn't like being left alone so much, but at least she knew where he was and that he would almost certainly come back. She wanted to steal after him, but forced herself to obey his injunctions not to do so.

The clues were really starting to pile up. In addition to the letter R and the number fifteen, they had added several more letters - F, D, O, H, E, and I. There had also been a riddle, the answer to which involved acquiring a copy of  _The Peerage of Great Britain_. Another puzzle had been an intricate box, which the Professor had spent a good two hours unlocking and finally opening to reveal a delicate origami bird, folded from a piece of sheet music.

"It just doesn't add up," the Professor told her over breakfast one morning. He looked frazzled. "None of these clues seem to be pointing to anything. We've examined the initials of all the people in the peerage, inquired after the ones that play music, checked to see if any of them are the fifteenth holders of their respective titles...nothing appears to fit all of the information. It's utterly bewildering."

"And I'm sure the rain isn't helping either," Flora replied, looking outside. It was the fourth straight day of storms, which only made her worry more about the Professor when he went out. The best she could do was to make tea for him as soon as he walked in the door, and see to it that the fires were well built up, trying to guard him against a cold.

* * *

"Ah, it's so lovely to see you again, Miss Flora!"

She couldn't help smiling at the effusive greeting from the little man. "Hello, Mr. Nick. How have you been?"

"Oh, getting by, my dear, getting by." His head bobbed with delight. "But you've stayed away too long! I was growing quite desolate without you these last few days."

"I'm sorry...the weather's been so unpleasant."

"I'm not blaming you in the slightest, sweet child. I'd much rather you stay home in such storms than come out and risk becoming ill. Come and sit down, won't you?"

She followed him to the little table at the back of the store, and in short order he had set a teapot to steep. "Have a biscuit," he insisted, offering her a little platter. "How have you been? How is your guardian?"

"He's very busy. Scotland Yard has him helping them with a difficult case, so he hasn't been home much."

"Ah, and you've been all alone! Poor darling. It's a shame that you're at such a distance from the shop; if you were closer you could be here every day."

"That's true." Flora couldn't help thinking that it wouldn't be a very bad thing if she were able to be in the toy shop every day. Mr. Nack still unnerved her, but Mr. Nick was always so friendly and welcoming, and made her feel like he was genuinely glad to have her around.

 _I wish the Professor acted like this once in a while._  Immediately she flushed, feeling guilty for the stray thought.

"Have you heard from your friend, the one who moved to America?" Mr. Nick inquired, pouring a cup of tea for her.

"Luke? Yes, the Professor had a letter from him a few days ago." She added sugar to her cup. "He doesn't usually write to me directly, but he always mentions me in his letters to the Professor. 'Say hello to Flora,' that sort of thing. He seems to be settling in rather well, and he promised to send me my own letter very soon."

"That's so good to hear. I imagine you must miss him very much."

"Yes, I do." In spite of her best efforts to be cheerful, Flora suddenly felt despondent.

"My poor sweet young friend...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to increase your melancholy." Mr. Nick patted her hand. "I've a special surprise for you, my dear, I hope it will cheer you."

"A surprise?" Flora brightened a touch. "What is it?"

"Wait here. Oh, I can hardly wait to see your face! I made it especially with you in mind!" Rubbing his hands with glee, Mr. Nick scuttled away and, after a few minutes, returned with an elegantly inlaid wooden tray and a matching box. "In this box are the pieces of a special wooden jigsaw puzzle, and you assemble it in the tray. We have to keep you practicing your puzzles, after all!"

"Oh!" Flora eyed the treat with interest. "It's so beautiful, Mr. Nick!" Eagerly, she opened the box and started lifting out the pieces. The wood was polished to a soft glowing sheen, and all left in their natural colors; they ranged from a buttery yellow oak to a rich dark mahogany. "This must have taken you a long time, the pieces are so smooth and glossy. It's a real work of art!"

"You're too kind, my dear, much too kind." He beamed at her. "Go ahead, put it together!"

She did, albeit slowly. The pieces which acted as the background were a soft white birch, and they interlocked perfectly with the tray's edging. The deep red cherrywood pieces arranged to form a blossom; more pieces of varying shades created a stem and leaves. "Why, it's a rose!"

"Indeed it is! Look how cleverly you did that," he said, bouncing on his heels. "Solved it already! A flower for Miss Flora. Do you like it, poppet?"

"It's wonderful." She was deeply touched by the gesture, and her cheeks were rosy with pleasure as she smiled at him. "You're so kind, Mr. Nick, thank you for this."

"Now, I can't let you take this home," he cautioned. "Mr. Nack wants to keep it to use as a prototype - he thinks I should make a few more for us to sell. But I wanted you to see how you've inspired my work. You brighten this old man's days, my dear, and it's always such a pleasure to see your pretty smiling face come through the door. This was my way of showing my appreciation. And once I make a few more puzzles like this, this one will be yours."

She was so moved that she couldn't help jumping to her feet and kissing him on his ruddy cheek. "You're very sweet, Mr. Nick."

* * *

Knowing that the Professor had a class that afternoon, Flora bade Mr. Nick goodbye shortly before three. She walked over to the university to wait for him in his office, wanting to see him and tell him about the lovely surprise she had received. He still didn't know about Mr. Nick, only that she had found a toy shop she enjoyed browsing, and she wanted to share it with him and perhaps bring him to meet her friend.

He came down the corridor just as she reached his office door, so she stood and waited for him. "Ah - Flora, dear," he said with some surprise. "What brings you to the campus? Is anything wrong?"

"No, not at all. I just wanted to see you."

"That's very heartening, my dear. It's been quite a trying day." He opened the door and welcomed her into the messy room. "I've got to get to my class. Shall we go and have a late lunch when I'm through? I haven't touched so much as a drop of tea since breakfast, I'm famished."

She agreed readily, and sat down at his desk with one of his archaeology books to pass the time. It was dry reading, unfortunately, and her gaze kept straying to the framed pictures. She had told the Professor that he looked like his father, and it was certainly true, but there was something very gentle and comforting about his mother's image that reminded her a lot of her guardian as well. He looked at her that way, at least sometimes. He cared about her. She couldn't bring herself to doubt that, ever since the incident with Clive, no matter what Mr. Nack might imply sometimes.

She studied the image of Luke in the color photograph, smiling a bit sadly. Her thoughts wandered back to the country fair in Dropstone, when they'd had such fun together, and she ardently hoped he would soon send a letter that she could answer.

The idea of writing a letter reminded her that she hadn't sent a message to Bruno since the Professor had started working on the puzzle mystery. She found a loose sheet of paper and a pen and began to make amends for the oversight.

_Dear Bruno,_

_I hope all is well in St. Mystere. I like London, but I admit that sometimes I still feel homesick for my little village. Is Matthew still tending my mother's grave for me?_

_I have befriended an old toymaker, Mr. Nick. He fashions delightful wooden puzzles for me to solve while the Professor is busy helping the police with a most perplexing mystery. I think you would like him; his work reminds me of yours. It's nice to have him to talk to, because as I mentioned in my last letter, Luke has moved to America with his parents and I'm by myself a lot. The Professor is very kind to me and takes good care of me, but he works a lot._

She frowned, studying the paper. Would Bruno be concerned by this news, and think the Professor wasn't doing his duty by her? She hoped not.

_I think that when the mystery is cleared up and he has some free time, I will ask him to bring me back to St. Mystere for a visit. It would be so good to see you all again, and to show you that I'm well and happy. I don't think he'll mind, and after all the work he's doing with Inspector Chelmey, perhaps he'd like a holiday._

_Please tell Lady Dahlia that I will write to her very soon, and give my regards to everyone in the village._

_Lots of love,_

_Flora_

As she was rummaging for an envelope in the stationery drawer, she glanced at the clock and frowned. "Half past four already?" she wondered aloud. "But...the Professor's class ended half an hour ago. What could be keeping him?"

She found her envelope, addressed it to Bruno, and sealed the letter inside. That was done, at least, and she stowed the letter in the pocket of her coat. The Professor was due any moment, so she kept her coat on and waited.

And waited.

Five o'clock.

Five-thirty.

At last the door opened.

"Miss Flora?"

Flora's disappointment was overwhelming, but she tried not to show it. "How are you, Dean Delmona?"

"I'm doing very well, thank you. I've just had a message from Professor Layton." He smiled at her from the doorframe. "Something came up at Scotland Yard and he was obliged to rush down there, something about a new clue. He's been there since his class dismissed, and he asked me to come and suggest that you head home. He said he'll meet you there once he's able to get away."

"Since his class dismissed?" she repeated. "At four? Did the messenger get lost?"

The Dean fidgeted slightly. "I'm not sure," he hedged. "Perhaps."

"I see. Well. Thank you very much, Dean Delmona...I'll just make my way home, then."

The messenger hadn't gotten lost. She knew that the instant he'd hesitated with his answer. It had taken the Professor that long to remember that she was waiting for him.

He hadn't just left her, this time...he'd  _forgotten_  her.


	7. Chapter Seven

 

Flora ate a very small, solitary dinner and went to her room early. She locked the door, which she was not normally in the habit of doing but she wanted to make it  _very_ clear that she didn't wish to speak to the Professor whenever he decided to come home.

She sat on her bed and looked at the array of pictures on the wall. Lady Dahlia and Claudia... Matthew... Bruno, tinkering with Adrea... her parents' wedding picture... and the one that she had taken from the downstairs parlor of Reinhold Manor, herself as a baby, curled in the arms of her beaming mother.

 _Sometimes I wonder why I left_ , she thought.  _They loved me. Wanted me. Protected and consoled me._  It had hardly been the perfect living arrangement for a girl growing into womanhood, but she was never left behind or forgotten.

The minutes ticked by miserably, the clock seeming unusually loud. She wrote in her diary and rearranged the contents of the little jewel-box she had inherited from her mother. Around eight she changed into her nightdress and put away her pink ribbon and brushed her hair and climbed into bed with  _Pride and Prejudice_.

She would have liked to see anybody try to leave Elizabeth Bennet behind.

She didn't know exactly when she fell asleep, nor when the Professor came home. Sometime in the night she awoke to find the book sprawled across her stomach, and she drowsily turned off the gas lamp and tucked the book into her bedside table drawer.

In the morning she took her sweet time dressing and putting up her hair. Let him get his own breakfast. Perhaps it was immature and ridiculous, but she felt the need to punish him a little. She remained in the room, making her bed and tidying her already tidy closet, until half past nine. By that point she could no longer ignore her rumbling stomach, so she set off in search of a morning meal. Reaching the dining room entrance, she peered warily around the doorframe.

The Professor's chair at the table was vacant, but for the newspaper he had partially read. She could tell by the way it was lying that he hadn't finished it; he was already gone. Relaxing, she entered the room proper, and stopped short almost at once.

In the center of the table was a crystal bowl filled with water, and almost overstuffed with lilies of every imaginable color - some she didn't even know existed in the lily family. A small card, folded in half and bearing her own name on the front, sat on the table beside the bowl.

_My dear Flora,_

_I offer a thousand apologies for failing to come back to the office. I fear that I went too long without taking nourishment yesterday; this, the urgency of Inspector Chelmey's request, and the drain that the entire case is placing upon my faculties all conspired to make me more than a little absent-minded. Even so, it was unbecoming of a gentleman that I should leave a lady waiting for so long, and you were within your rights to be cross with me last night. I hope you will accept this token of my sincere regret for causing you any distress. I promise that I shall try to be home at a reasonable hour this evening, to enjoy the favor of your company if you will bestow it._

_Your Professor_

She wanted to stay angry, but she just couldn't do it. She wasn't ready to forgive him just yet, but the apology helped.

* * *

"Miss Flora, are you all right?"

Still in need of something to soothe her injured feelings, she had made her way to Nick and Nack's, where Mr. Nick instantly read her face. "What's happened, dear?"

"Oh, it...well..."

And before she knew it, she had taken a seat opposite Mr. Nick and poured out her heart. Her mother's death; her father's; these he already knew. But now she told him about St. Mystere, about how the Professor had solved the riddles and earned the right to be her guardian, about how he had taken Luke everywhere and constantly tried to leave her at home, about how he just didn't seem to understand.

"Last night, I wanted to tell him about you, and that lovely puzzle you made me, and maybe see if he wanted to come and meet you," she concluded. "And he said he'd come and get me after his last class and we'd go and have something to eat, and instead Inspector Chelmey called him down to Scotland Yard for more work. And he _forgot_  me, Mr. Nick! He forgot that I was there! He was so hungry and tired that he forgot all about me. He said he's very sorry and he did give me beautiful flowers this morning, so I'm not as angry as I was, but oh...it hurt so much."

Mr. Nick listened to all of her troubles with a sympathetic air. He said nothing while she spoke, only occasionally patted her hand consolingly. "There, there," he soothed. "My poor sweet girl. How could he do such a thing?"

"I don't know. I mean...he is working very hard...and he hadn't eaten all day..."

"But really, is that any excuse? You deserve better, dear. So lovely and kind, and devoted to him. He just doesn't appreciate you." For the first time in their acquaintance, Mr. Nick actually seemed a bit angry himself, and Flora drew back slightly in astonishment. "And more than that. You're a member of the nobility, the daughter of a baron, a true blue blood. You're as proper a lady as ever I've known, gentle and sweet and such pretty manners. You deserve a family and love and to be thought of and cared for."

"He...he doesn't even have a picture of me in his office," Flora confessed. "There's a picture of Luke, but not me."

"Hmm." Mr. Nick shook his head, making a visible effort to master his emotions. "I can't say I agree with how he's managing things here, my dear, but forgive me - I spoke out of turn. It hurts me to see such a dear sweet girl treated so thoughtlessly by her own guardian."

"It's all right. And the Professor is good to me in his own way, really he is."  _Am I convincing him or myself?_  she wondered.

"Sure of that, are you?" drawled another voice. Flora started, looking at the door to the back room; Mr. Nack was leaning against the doorframe.

"Nack, don't frighten the poor girl, for heaven's sake," Mr. Nick chided him.

"Very sorry, of course. Couldn't help overhearing the whole thing, though. But never mind it. You're always welcome here, Miss Reinhold; Nick hardly talks of anything else."

Something felt off about the whole situation, and she was struggling to figure out what it was. She brushed it off for the time being, resolving to enjoy her time at the toy shop. Mr. Nack disappeared back into the stock room, while Mr. Nick devoted himself to her amusement, showing her the machinery on which he had made the beautiful puzzle in her honor and inviting her to help him change the window display.

Toward tea time, Flora felt she ought to get home. "It's growing late," she said, steadily resisting Mr. Nick's entreaties that she stay and have tea with them. "I really should give the Professor the chance to apologize in person instead of by note. But I'll come again soon, I promise." He seemed to resign himself to being content with this, and she set off through the city.

As she walked, she started mentally reviewing the conversation in her mind. She had been careful, she thought. She didn't mention the robot inhabitants of St. Mystere or the hidden cache of gold. She had given as little detail about life in the village as she could, and since it appeared on very few maps, there wasn't much danger of Mr. Nack - whom she distrusted as much as ever - possibly finding it.

Mr. Nick had been angry about her being left behind so much. She dwelled on that for a moment, and she realized the discrepancy that had triggered her unease.

_You're a member of the nobility, the daughter of a baron, a true blue blood._

She had never mentioned that.

* * *

To her immense surprise and admitted pleasure, the Professor had been true to his word, and was waiting for her when she arrived at the brownstone. "Have you had a good afternoon, dear?"

"Yes, thank you." Flora had already decided that she wasn't going to tell the Professor anything about Nick and Nack's. It was a puzzle of her own, and she would solve it. Then maybe he'd see that she was just as good as Luke.

"I really am very sorry about last night, my girl. It was a grievous oversight."

"I forgive you."

He smiled. "I have already told Inspector Chelmey not to disturb me this evening; I have no intention of going anywhere, at least not alone. Suppose we have tea?"

Over tea, she asked him about the case. "You haven't said much about it lately. Are there more clues?"

"Yes," he sighed, "and we're no closer to a resolution. The clues just don't make sense, they truly don't."

"Tell me what they are?"

He sipped his tea. "Letters - R, F, D, O, H, E, I, L, and now N. A wooden box containing an origami bird made from a sheet of music. The number fifteen.  _The Peerage of Great Britain._  And a rose."

"A rose?"

"Yes, rather an extraordinary thing really. A most beautifully crafted wooden jigsaw puzzle. Once assembled, it formed a rose."

Flora almost dropped her teacup. "Really," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "That does sound, um, exquisite."

_It can't be. Can it?_

"Oh, it was." The Professor rubbed his eyes. "Sweeting, I hate to be rude, but I'm so very weary...I don't think I've had a proper night's sleep in a week."

"Why don't you lie on the settee, Professor," she suggested, "and I'll play the piano for you? Something soft and sweet to help you rest."

"You're a dear girl," he murmured, draining his teacup. "Perhaps that's just what I need."

* * *

Once he was asleep, Flora retrieved some paper and a pen, and settled herself at the dining table to think. She started making a list of the known clues, frowning as she did.

15 - Rose - Origami bird - Peerage

N R F D O H E I L

She tilted her head, examining the clues. She could pick out words comprised of the letters, but none of them seemed to match any of the other clues. Still, she wrote them down.  _Rod...hoe...lie...life...field...rind...rein...dole...old...hold..._

Wait.

_Rein...hold..._

_Reinhold._

_F. Reinhold._

She stared at the paper in horror. The letters spelled her own last name, plus first initial. How had the Professor missed this? Well, then again, it hadn't dawned on him to wonder what Future Flora might be doing, during the Clive matter, so it wasn't hard to imagine that she didn't occur to him during this investigation either.

She looked back at the other clues. Fifteen - she was fifteen years old. The origami bird didn't make sense by itself, but it was made from a piece of sheet music - Mr. Nick knew she played the piano.  _The Peerage of Great Britain_  - he had known her father was a baron, even though she hadn't told him! And the rose puzzle hardly even needed to be considered; it had been  _designed_  for her! It all fit!

What did that early message say?  _We'll take something you won't even_ _miss_ , or something similar. The word was underlined... it had a double meaning. He always called her Miss Flora, and knowing what he knew of her turbulent relationship with the Professor, he probably really did believe that she wouldn't be missed if she were taken.

 _But why the clues?_  she wondered.  _What could he gain by that?_  That was the only thing that made no sense. Why warn the police, or Professor Layton, that he intended to kidnap Flora? If indeed that was his design; she had no definite proof that this was the plan.

Tomorrow she would go back to the toy shop. And she would get to the bottom of the whole affair.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the mystery may have appeared a bit too easy to you. But considering the Professor's history, do you really think it would dawn on him that the clues pointed to Flora? Especially since they were being sent to the police, not to him directly. Anyway, an explanation is forthcoming.

 

Flora argued with herself most of the night about what, if anything, to tell Professor Layton before she went to the toy shop. Nothing really sounded right in her mind.

_I think I've solved your mystery, Professor, and I'm going to go confront the man I think is responsible. What he's apparently planning to do is kidnap me._

At the same time, however, not saying anything at all sounded like an extremely bad idea. Having been kidnapped twice in the past six months, she wasn't particularly keen to repeat the experience. If it were Don Paolo doing it, she might not mind quite as much - the devil you know, and so forth - but Mr. Nick was, she had to admit, a stranger after all. A friendly, warm, kindly-seeming stranger, who had preyed on her loneliness and insecurities and won her trust by his sympathy. She had been foolish.

After going around and around about it, she decided to leave a note.

_Professor,_

_I am going to Nick and Nack's Doodads. You can find it in a little alley just off of Bond Street, near the music shop you showed me. I have reason to believe that Mr. Nick, one of the owners, is the one sending you all the clues. He knows and likes me, so I'm hoping that he will be easily persuaded to turn himself in to the authorities._

_I promise to be extra careful, but all the same, I may need your help. If you receive this message, then I have been gone too long and I beg you will bring Inspector Chelmey to the store._

_Love, Flora_

The Professor was teaching his morning class, she knew. So she sealed the note in an envelope and went outside to catch the bus. Her second stop was Scotland Yard; her first stop was a bakery near the precinct.

"Good morning, Officer Barton," she greeted Chelmey's assistant.

"And good morning to you, young lady," he replied warmly. "What can I do for you?"

"I've come to bring you a gift, and to ask you for a favor," she said. The gift was a box of doughnuts, chocolate glazed and freshly made, still warm.

"You're very kind to think of us, miss!" Constable Barton wasn't wasting much time getting his hand on one of the pastries. "Favor, you say?"

"Yes." She held out the envelope. "I'm off on an errand this morning and I may be gone longer than I think. If it gets to be one in the afternoon, and you still haven't heard from me, would you be so kind as to give that to Professor Layton?"

"One in the afternoon! Professor Layton! You can count on me, miss!"

She would have been a bit more persuaded of this fact if he'd refrained from speaking with his mouth full, but it would have to do. Inspector Chelmey would have asked too many questions to entrust the message to him; Officer Barton was just the right mix of responsible and oblivious for her purposes.

* * *

With the note safely in Officer Barton's chocolate-smudged hands, Flora set off for the toy shop. She was trembling, and felt weak. Nothing about this errand was pleasant to her. She had come to value Mr. Nick's companionship and welcoming disposition, and now she was about to accuse him of something very underhanded.

But it had to be done.

The bell announced her arrival; he scuttled out from the back room, his face wreathed in smiles at the sight of her. "I didn't expect the pleasure again so soon, Miss Flora!"

"Mr. Nick...may we speak privately?" she asked.

His aspect changed immediately, the smiles giving way to concern. "Is something amiss, my dear?"

"Possibly."

"Come right in here." He ushered her off of the sales floor. "What's troubling you? More disagreement with the Professor?"

"No, no. It's the case he's been working on, Mr. Nick. I...I think I've solved it for him."

"You see!" He lit up once more. "All that puzzle practice did the trick!"

"Yes, but...Mr. Nick, was it you?"

"Was what me, dear?"

Flora hesitated. Was she wrong? "The Professor and Inspector Chelmey have been receiving clues for the last fortnight," she began, "and...and they seem to point to you."

"To me!"

She nodded. "They usually come accompanied by puzzles. One of the latest was accompanied by a wooden jigsaw puzzle that formed a rose - like the one you made for me."

"Are you quite sure?" Color had drained out of his face. "What are these clues?"

"The messages say that the sender wants something specific, and if he receives it without difficulty, no one will get hurt. Some of the clues have been letters - letters that spell out my name! Another clue was my age! And then there was one that involved  _The Peerage of Great Britain_ , and just yesterday you remarked on my being a baron's daughter."

"I don't see how that means I'm involved."

"How did you know my father was a baron, Mr. Nick? I never told you that."

"Didn't you?" He seemed genuinely confused. "Someone did, I was sure of it."

Once again, Flora had the feeling that something was very off-balance. "Are you all right, Mr. Nick? Maybe I was wrong to think it was you - but when the Professor told me about the rose puzzle, it seemed like too much of a coincidence."

"I need some tea," he said. "Nack! Nack, where are you? I need a cuppa."

After a moment, Mr. Nack appeared with the tea tray. "Whatever's the matter with you two?" he asked, looking from one anxious face to the other. "Here, both of you, drink some of this. You look like you've each seen a ghost."

He pressed a cup into Flora's fingers, which felt cold and stiff despite it being a lovely spring day. She nodded her thanks and took a sip, feeling the warmth rush through her comfortingly. "Not a ghost, Mr. Nack. But it seems that someone's been playing a terrible trick on both Mr. Nick and my guardian."

"What do you mean?"

The tea was strangely delicious, and she took a bigger swallow. "The Professor's been solving a mystery. And all of the clues point to Mr. Nick, and make it sound like - like he wants to kidnap me!" Suddenly, it sounded kind of ridiculous.

"Kidnap you? Nick, you don't want to kidnap her, do you?"

"Of course not!"

"Whoever it was, they got one of the wooden rose puzzles and sent it as a clue," Flora insisted. "Did anyone buy one of those from you lately, Mr. Nack?"

"Nick hasn't finished making any of the copies yet. They're all still half-finished. Only the original was done."

"That's true," said Mr. Nick. "You didn't sell it, did you, Nack?"

"I did not."

"And I didn't sell it."

"Then maybe it's still here," Flora said with relief. "If it is, then it's a mistake and a coincidence, and he received a different puzzle as a clue. If I've been wrong, Mr. Nick, I'm so terribly sorry for making such an accusation."

"I hope it's here," said Mr. Nick. "I don't like the idea of anyone thinking I want to abduct sweet young things."

"Let's start looking," Mr. Nack agreed. "Did you finish your tea, Miss Flora?"

"What? Oh, yes." She drained the cup and handed it back. "Thank you, that was excellent."

"I'm so glad you enjoyed it," said Mr. Nack, taking the cup. "Are you ready for your nap now?"

"My what?"

He just smiled. Flora stared at him, first in confusion and then in horror. The blackness overwhelmed her quickly.

* * *

The chair was extremely uncomfortable. That was the first thing she understood, when consciousness returned some time later. Perhaps it wasn't the chair's fault, though. More likely it had something to do with the ropes keeping her in the chair. The gag didn't help either.

"Oh, are you awake?"

Mr. Nack peered at her. "You're not very bright, are you? No wonder that professor of yours prefers the boy."

She made a muffled noise of indignation, shaking herself into proper wakefulness and glaring at him. "Well, I apologize if the truth hurts," he said mildly. "But really, what were you thinking? You walked into the lion's den and allowed the lion to give you something to drink."

Admittedly, when he put it that way, it didn't sound very good.

"Oh, Nack, do take away the gag," said Mr. Nick, coming into view. "I hate to see her like that."

Mr. Nack rolled his eyes, but granted the request. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, stretching her jaw. "So it was you?" she asked finally.

"Obviously."

"Why?"

"Money." He shrugged. "It didn't take us long to work out which deceased Reinhold must have been your father, and a simple call to the courthouse merely confirmed it. They have all that documentation on file, of course. Your father was a landed baron of considerable wealth, and your mother didn't exactly come from a line of paupers."

"You wanted my money?" She felt oddly offended.

"Mostly. Nick here actually wanted  _you_."

She turned her head in that direction, eyes wide with horror. "Oh, not in any sort of improper way, my dear," Mr. Nick said hurriedly. "I meant what I said, about you deserving more care and love than you're receiving. I'm an old man - no family, no friends except Nack here, not much to brighten my days except making toys and conversing with a sweet young lady who comes to visit. I wanted to keep you for my own, to have you with me and ease your loneliness as well as mine."

Flora blinked at them in turn. "My head hurts," she said at length.

"That would be the additives in your tea," Mr. Nack replied mildly. "It'll wear off in time."

She angled her neck so that she could look at Mr. Nick. "You said you didn't want to kidnap me," she reminded him accusingly.

"I don't," he insisted. "It devastates me that you're all tied up like that."

"Then why?"

"Because...because we don't have a choice. You won't come willingly."

She blinked again. Her head throbbed. "What?"

"Would you really give up your life with your Professor? If we untied you, would you stay?"

"No!"

"There you are then."

 _The truly frightening thing,_  Flora thought,  _is that he seems to believe this is perfectly all right. Professor, where are you?_


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the record - monophobia is the fear of being alone. I'm inclined to believe this is the underlying reason why Flora pitches a fit in the games when the Professor goes off without her; that, and separation anxiety.

 

The first time Flora was ever taken captive, she was chloroformed and left to sleep it off in a barn full of relatively friendly cows. She was unharmed and didn't even really have time to be frightened. And she'd awoken to the beaming, relieved faces of Luke and Professor Layton.

The second time Flora was ever taken captive, she was dragged out of a restaurant by someone she'd believed was an ally, then locked inside a glass capsule with a puzzle lock. Thankfully, she was monophobic and not claustrophobic, or it would have been an even more terrifying experience than it already was. And again, when she was released there had been beaming, relieved expressions on both Luke and Professor Layton's faces, and for the first time ever, the Professor had embraced her - clung to her, however briefly.

The third time Flora was ever taken captive, she'd walked straight into the trap that had been carefully arranged for her over a course of days. She was given tea laced with a sleeping draught and bound to an uncomfortable wooden chair. And when she woke up, the faces which greeted her were neither relieved nor beaming, nor did they belong to the two people she valued most.

Luke was off in America. She didn't know when, or if, she would ever see him again.

And the Professor...

Where  _was_  the Professor?

She sat quietly for some time, wishing for her headache to dissipate and allow her to try to think of a way out of this.  _Slide the blocks around the puzzle to clear the path...help the princess escape from the tower._ Her captors had moved to the far side of the room, and seemed to be engaged in some form of an argument. Perhaps Mr. Nick was arguing for her release. Or maybe he was just arguing for a larger share of her fortune than Mr. Nack intended to give him. She didn't know anymore.

"What time is it?" she asked. Her voice was dull and heavy in her own ears; her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

"Why?" The quarrel had ceased when she spoke out of turn, and Mr. Nack was eyeing her. "Are we making you late for an appointment?"

"I just want to know."

Mr. Nick drew a silver pocketwatch ( _why, it looks like the one they used to save the Prime Minister, how funny_ ) and pressed the button to expose the face. "Almost half past three."

Flora's heart sank. A full two and a half hours after Officer Barton was to have given her message to the Professor, she was tied to a chair in a toy shop's storage room and no rescue was in evidence.  _He's not coming._

The men went back to their arguing, but she couldn't really understand what either one was saying. Her head was swimming with revelation. _He's not coming for me. Maybe he's relieved that they didn't want something important. Maybe he's even glad that..._

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, even in her own mind. She was too hurt, and too weary. What was in that tea? Her head lolled forward, chin bumping chest. Her right arm twitched, the rope chafing her delicate skin.

Dimly, she registered the sound of the bell on the front door. It used to be such a friendly sound; now it echoed in her ears like a death knell. Mr. Nack broke off mid-sentence and gestured at Mr. Nick, evidently warning him not to say a word, then disappeared onto the sales floor to attend to the customer. She was alone with the old man, and it might be her only chance.

"Let me go?" she whimpered.

"I can't. You must know I can't."

"But you...care about me...don't you?"

"Of course, my dear, of course I do. I don't want to hurt you. I just don't want to lose you, either." He moved closer, blinking. "I'll be all alone."

"Is that...is that how he...convinced you?" Flora lifted her head to stare blearily at him. "He's not your friend...is he...?"

Mr. Nick sighed. "He's...no. No, he's not my friend."

"Then...stand up to him."

"I can't do that."

"Why...?"

He sighed again. "Because...he's my son."

* * *

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Flora blinked rapidly, brows furrowing in confusion, and she sank back against the chair. "Your son?"

"We don't make enough money, sweet girl. Nack said this was the only way."

"I..." The veil of confusion was starting to lift; the pain was lessening. "I don't have the money. I can't even get to it. It's all locked away, in trusts and bonds and the like. It won't be mine until I grow up."  _I'm sorry, Papa. I know you always told me not to lie, but I don't have any better ideas. Surely it's all right to lie here?_

"But your guardian has access to the interest. That's what Nack said." Mr. Nick seemed almost pleading. "All Layton has to do is give over your guardianship. Then Nack will have what he wants, and I'll have what I want - a little girl all my own, to keep me company in my waning years."

"He won't." Flora was not remotely convinced of that anymore.

"He must." For the first time, Mr. Nick seemed genuinely frightened. "Otherwise, Nack will...will do something dreadful."

"Like what?"

"He won't tell me. But that's why the clues said what they did, you see. I don't want to harm anyone, and Nack won't as long as he gets the money. Layton will understand that, surely." Mr. Nick looked over his shoulder, but Mr. Nack was still dealing with the customer. "I'll make you puzzles and toys to your heart's content. Nobody will be hurt. All he has to do...is give you up."

"But..."  _Would_  the Professor see it that way? She couldn't help feeling conflicted herself. Maybe she should just agree to the plan, if it meant that nobody else would be hurt. She didn't know what Mr. Nack had planned if he was denied, but London had suffered enough on account of Clive. Even though she'd had nothing to do with that, and could not have stopped him if she'd tried, Flora still felt a sense of responsibility.

"Shouldn't he have come by now, if he were going to save you?" asked Mr. Nick. "Haven't you been telling me that you feel like he doesn't really care, like you'll never be as good as Luke?"

"Yes..." Her voice was tiny. She felt suddenly ashamed. She  _had_  told him those things, and even though they were true, it still seemed wrong to her now that she had ever said them.

"I would never make you feel that way," he wheedled. "Nack is my son...but he's so cold. You're warm, little Flora, like the sunshine. I would always love you best."

Little Flora.

No one had called her that since Papa died. To Bruno she was always "young miss." To the residents of St. Mystere she was "Miss Flora." To Luke she was simply Flora. To the Professor she was "my dear." Only to Papa had she been  _Flora, my little Flora, my ever-blooming rose._

Something inside of her broke, and despite all her best resolve, Flora began to cry.

* * *

In a way, the crying helped. It felt like a relief to her soul, but more than that, it sent Mr. Nick into a flurry of anxiety. He apparently couldn't stand to see the tears rolling out of her big eyes, and he scuttled away.

To Flora's distaste, it was Mr. Nack who returned, looking smug and a touch surly. "Where's the old man?"

"I don't know." She hiccuped.

"Here, here." Mr. Nick hurried back from wherever he had gone, carrying a box of tissues. As he approached, however, the bell of the door rang again. "Oh, for - I'll take care of it, Nack. Here. Look after her, wipe her eyes."

Flora recoiled, not wanting Mr. Nack to touch her if she could avoid it. Fortunately, he seemed equally displeased by the order, and as soon as his father was out of sight, he tossed the box into her lap. "Wipe your own eyes, if you can compass it. I'm not a nursemaid."

"So how do you think you'll get the Professor to give over my guardianship?"

"I've already sent the last message to Scotland Yard, outlining specifics. There's a document he'll need to sign, to make it all go smoothly with the bank."

"I told Mr. Nick and I'm telling you. I can't touch that money until I'm grown."

"I know." He snorted. "I'm not stupid. Three years of living on the interest should be comfortable enough. Once you reach your majority, it'll be smooth sailing."

"And what if he refuses? What will you do then?"

"He won't. Not if he knows what's good for this city." Mr. Nack smirked. "It'd be a terrible shame if anything were to happen to the Tower Bridge, wouldn't it? Especially with so many people crossing it every day."

"How could you possibly do anything...?"

He reached over and gripped her chin painfully, tilting her head up. "Little girls shouldn't ask so many questions," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Especially questions to which they really  _don't_  want to know the answers."

"Let go of her, Nack," said Mr. Nick, coming back into the room. "That was a good sale, by the by."

Mr. Nack complied, rolling his eyes at the statement. "Be still my beating heart. Someone actually bought something."

"That they did. I don't think we really need her, Nack."

Flora stared at Mr. Nick. So did Mr. Nack. "What are you babbling about?"

"I'm saying we should let her go. There's nothing wrong with what we have here. We can get along perfectly well without resorting to such... such drastic measures. Of course you'll still come and visit, my dear?"

"Um...o-okay?" She was still bewildered.

"We're not going back on the plan  _now_ , you old fool! What's gotten into you?" Mr. Nack looked ready to strike his father. His expression suddenly turned suspicious. "Who was at the door?"

"A customer."

"Liar. Was it the police? Was it  _Layton_?"

"Neither," Mr. Nick replied. "It was  _me_." And before Mr. Nack could respond to this baffling assertion, Mr. Nick drew his arm back and lunged forward, landing a sucker punch to his son's jaw. The younger man clattered to the floor, felled as much by surprise as by the actual blow, but quickly scrambled to his feet again.

"Don't move!" snapped a new voice, gravelly and sharp. Flora whipped her head around so fast that her neck hurt, but she had never in her life been so pleased to see Inspector Chelmey. Behind him stood Officer Barton, who held the arm of a handcuffed... Mr. Nick.

And suddenly everything made sense, and she turned back to the Mr. Nick who was helping the inspector subdue Mr. Nack. "Don Paolo!"

"At your service!" replied the impostor, peeling off the latex mask.


	10. Chapter Ten

 Flora hardly knew how to even begin to thank Don Paolo, or the officials for that matter, but she began to try. She'd barely uttered two syllables, however, before they were interrupted.

" _Flora!_ "

"Professor!"

And he was there, kneeling beside her chair and working feverishly to undo her bonds. He seemed pale, and his brow was creased with recent worry. In the background, Don Paolo rolled his eyes a bit. "I do all the work, Layton gets all the credit. It never fails."

"Nonsense, Paul. Your performance was once again flawless, and we're much indebted to you, aren't we, my dear?" The Professor's words were smooth and calm, but the fingers which tugged at the rope trembled.

"Oh, yes. Thank you so much, Don Paolo." She offered him a smile, then returned her gaze to the Professor's struggle.

"Here, Layton." Inspector Chelmey handed him a pocketknife. "If the young lady's come to no harm, Barton and I will take these two back to Scotland Yard."

"Much obliged, Inspector." The knife blade was sharp, and made quick work of the ropes. "There, my dear, you're quite all right, aren't you?"

The instant her arms were free, they wrapped themselves around his neck. She was sorry, so very sorry that she'd ever told anyone that she felt unwanted. Thin arms folded around her, holding her close, and she felt him continue to shake. "I didn't know if you would come," she admitted quietly.

"I would have been here much sooner," he replied, in  _her_  special tone, "but Officer Barton mislaid your message. Once he found it and we discovered what you'd done, it took a little time to arrange for Don Paolo to assist us and to find our way here. Oh, Flora, what were you thinking?" He released her far enough to look her in the eye.

"I...I wanted to solve it for you," she said weakly. "To...to show you that...that I could be just as good..."

"...as Luke?" he finished, when she trailed off uncertainly.

"Yes." She hung her head.

"I see."

"If you don't mind my ruining the moment," Don Paolo interjected, "I'll just show myself out."

The Professor stood, and pulled Flora to her feet. He didn't smile at Don Paolo; his expression was serious, and pained. "Thank you, Paul. It seems I'm even farther in your debt."

"Just wait until I decide to collect."

"Thank you, Don Paolo," Flora said again. Timidly, for she was convinced that the Professor was very angry with her now, she crept forward and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He looked surprised, and gratified, and trying very hard not to  _appear_  gratified.

"Well. Maybe now you know for sure that I'm as much of a gentleman as Layton," he groused. "Take her home, Layton, the poor thing's been through enough for one year." So saying, the master of disguise swept dramatically out of the room.

"Indeed," the Professor murmured. "Let's go home, dear."

"Yes, Professor."

* * *

Neither of them said much. Flora made a simple dinner, and they ate in silence. She hardly dared to look at him, and he didn't invite conversation. He seemed lost in thought.

 _Perhaps I should go home,_  she mused, pushing food around on her plate with her fork.  _It might be better. He wouldn't be worrying about me all the time, and I'd be safe and...and alone isn't so bad, when you're surrounded by robot friends. It would be all right. Lady Dahlia would let me come and live in the manor again. Yes. That's what I'll do._

After dinner, the Professor retired to the parlor, and she screwed up her courage and followed him.

"Professor...I've been thinking."

"Yes, my dear?"

"I think it might be...might be best if..." She took a breath. "If I go back to St. Mystere."

He looked startled. "Is that what you wish?"

"I think it would be better for you."

"In what way?" He was speaking in her special tone, gentle and warm, which gave her some courage; perhaps he wasn't very angry after all.

"I wouldn't be sneaking along on your cases. You'd know I was safe. Things...things like today wouldn't happen."

"I see." He watched her for a moment. "I think I've been unfair to you, Flora."

"What do you mean?"

"I keep treating you a certain way, and I've never adequately explained why."

"It's all right. I understand."

"Do you?"

"I'm not Luke. I won't ever be Luke. I thought perhaps I could do just as well as he did, but...I guess not."

"Luke." The Professor stood, and walked around the room a bit, then stood at the window with his hands behind his back. "Luke is different, I agree. You and Luke are not the same to me, and no, you never will be."

She'd reached the conclusion on her own, and stated it, but to hear it from him  _hurt_. "I know."

"No, you don't."

"I don't?"

"Luke and I are friends. Mentor and student. As I said to you once before, Luke essentially wants to be me when he grows up, and while that's flattering, my goal was to help him become  _himself_. And as I promised him before his ship departed, he and I will always be friends."

"That's very sweet."

"It's different here, Flora. You and I are not friends."

It was almost as if he had turned around and slapped her, and she physically recoiled from the blow which had not actually happened. "Oh."

"How to put this." He half turned, bringing one hand to his chin in contemplation. "You met Claire, of course."

"Yes."

"You know how I lost her. Seeing her again after all these years, losing her all over again, just made it all worse." His eyes closed against the pain. "When she died, I made a vow."

"A vow?"

He nodded. "I swore I would never let another woman into my heart. And my mother - I told you how soon after Claire I lost her. It only reinforced the feeling. I have been true to that promise ever since. There have been opportunities for love, but I refused to see them. I told myself they weren't there."

Now she felt mostly lost. "I don't understand, Professor."

"You see, Flora, fate conspired against me."

"It did?"

"Despite my promises to myself, I was destined to open my heart again after all. Because in spite of my own plans and inclinations, and quite to my genuine surprise, I was destined to become a father."

 _He has a child?_  She gave a tiny gasp, but said nothing, and he turned at last to look at her.

"It wasn't my intention or even my choice, but there it was. And fatherhood was not something I had ever prepared myself to enter, so I'm worried that I've done a poor job. Today, I was assured of it. I have been a poor father indeed, to give you the idea that you needed to take Luke's place."

"He was such a good apprentice to you," she said, "that he and I both feared you'd be lost without him. So he asked me to take care of you. And I've tried, Professor, but I'm just not..."

"Not Luke," he finished. "Flora, there will never be another Luke for me. Nor should there be. As I said...Luke is my friend, and you are not." He gave her a sad smile. "You are my  _daughter_. It's completely different."

Oh.

_Oh!_

A smile crept across her features. "Is it?"

"I never presumed I would have a child, given my refusal to marry. But here you are, an unexpected gift from a man I never knew. At first I thought only to do my duty by you as a gentleman, you know, to see to your care and education and steer you safely to womanhood." His smile was warmer. "Instead, you made me break my promise. I  _did_  open my heart to another lady, and there you are."

"So you do want me here? Because I...I sometimes thought...perhaps not."

"Why would you think that?"

"You have Luke's picture in your office and not mine. You always leave me behind," she said. "And the other night..."

"The other night was unconscionable," he agreed. "You mustn't imagine that I would ever forget  _you_ , though, dear. Our plans slipped my mind, but never you. You're right about the pictures, however, I should rectify that."

Flora brightened, then hesitated. "But...what about leaving me behind? I hate when you leave me behind, Professor, I'm all alone without you."

"I don't like to leave you. But Flora, the idea of something happening to you destroys me. Today - today I thought you might be lost to me forever." A shadow passed over the Professor's face. "The final clue came while we were preparing to rescue you. It seemed as though I were going to be forced to choose between allowing the deaths of innocent people or giving up the light of my life. I'm all alone without you too, Flora."

She hadn't thought of it that way. "I thought about agreeing to their terms," she admitted. "To save you from having to make the choice."

"I'm glad I didn't have to make it."

"If you would really rather leave me behind, I...I suppose I should start staying behind."

"I like having you along. I just worry. We'll both have to be more careful in the future."

"That seems fair."

He held out a hand to her. "And will you forgive me, my dear?"

"For what?"

"For letting you doubt. For not making it clear that I love you more than the world."

She ignored his hand and, instead, threw herself into his arms.

* * *

"Flora, I've got something to show you."

She abandoned the piano and met him in the foyer. "What is it, Professor?"

"The portrait studio sent a messenger to the school today. The pictures are finished." He handed her a brown paper parcel.

She unwrapped it curiously, and smiled. She looked much the same in this picture as she did in the large painted portrait which hung in Reinhold Manor - except that this time, the golden apple birthmark was very visible. The Professor stood behind her chair, one hand on her shoulder, beaming with fatherly pride.

"It's lovely," she said. "We'll need a frame for it. But you said pictures - are there more?"

"One more. A smaller version of this one." The Professor was unwrapping a second parcel, which contained an empty frame. "It's on the desk in my office."

"Really?"

He gave her a smile, much like the one he wore in the portrait. "Yes, really. And one of my students came in to take a make-up test, and asked me who the beautiful girl in the picture was."

Flora blushed. "Oh, Professor. What did you say?"

"I said that she was my daughter." He hesitated. "Do you mind my telling people that? I know how much you loved your father, I would never want to intrude upon your memories."

"I don't mind. And I don't think Papa would mind, either," she mused. "As long as I'm happy, he would be too."

"Are you?"

"To be your daughter?" The golden apple on her collarbone was vivid. "Yes, I am."

-Fin-


End file.
